


sing all your questions to sleep

by egelantier



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Exhaustion, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/pseuds/egelantier
Summary: Maia falls sick. His friends and family take care of him.
Comments: 54
Kudos: 135
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	sing all your questions to sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faradheia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faradheia/gifts).



Over the first two years of Edrehashivar's reign, Csevet had come to love the Tortoise Room the most. It had always been the least imposing of the Alcethmeret working spaces, and over the years it had transformed even further, molding itself around His Serenity's tastes. The clock given for the Emperor's first birthday at the Untheileneise Court stood in one of the corners. Drawings, gifted to His Serenity by the little princesses, adorned the walls: His Serenity, depicted as a very small and long-eared figure next to a majestic animal meant to be his horse, and a pleasingly energetic sketch of a cat in the rose garden. The fireplace always burned, and the carpets were simply-patterned but soft like first spring grass; Csevet on occasion wistfully wished that it was possible for both his and His Serenity's dignity to walk on them barefoot. 

This morning, His Serenity was slightly late. Csevet had time to spread his papers over the section of the table Merrem Esaran allowed them for work, and take advantage of his favored position by snagging a Barizheise pastry and a plate of hot kasha without waiting for his master. He frowned over that choice of breakfast, since it was something that His Serenity would reliably eat even when upset or unwell. His Serenity still hadn't, despite his retainers' best efforts, quite grasped that he could ask for the things he liked to be served, and so the kitchens kept some dishes in reserve for the time when His Serenity's edocharei would hint that the elusive royal appetite would have to be tempted. 

(Csevet sometimes worried that his loyalty required him to point out to Edrehashivar how desperately his entire retinue worked on pleasing him - but he didn't want to fluster his Emperor unduly, and also held a small hope that, learned independently, the knowledge would stick. Besides, he had a bet with Cala going.)

His Serenity came in about fifteen minutes later, visibly struggling not to apologize, and Csevet's worry kicked up a notch, because he looked as listless, pale and wan as he had in his first days in power, and his eyes were red-limned. Night terrors? Come to think of it, he had seemed tired, although not as much, all through the last week. But nothing happened recently to trouble His Serenity: Csethiro Zhasan bore the late stage of her pregnancy in perfect health and good cheer, Prince Idra and his little sisters had been His Serenity's guests just several days ago, the construction of the Wisdom Bridge was going smoothly, and the various factions were behaving themselves. Csevet resolved to ask Mer Valar, His Serenity's Barizheise-trained chaplain, if something was amiss with the meditation practice. 

For now, Csevet bowed and smiled, and pushed the food closer to His Serenity. The answering smile, genuine if shaky, reassured him enough to present the day's agenda. The meeting with Corazhas; the audience with the silk merchant guildmasters; the luncheon with Csethiro Zhasan; the quarterly financial report review for the Wisdom Bridge construction; the meeting with...

His Serenity listened and nodded in the right places, and yet it was obvious to Csevet that it required too much effort. "Serenity," Csevet said, finally, "forgive us for presumption, but are you well? Do you need us to cancel your appointments for today?"

"No," His Serenity said, and sat up straighter. "We just had a restless night, that's all. We're well aware just how much trouble rescheduling even a single appointment brings. We'll try to retire earlier tonight."

Csevet, who had never quite accustomed himself to the disarming prospect of being appeased by one's Emperor, let it go. 

(It was a mistake he would find hard to forgive himself for later.)

* * *

Beshelar, keeping watch through the Corazhas, grappled, somewhat resentfully, with a dilemma. 

It was fairly obvious that His Serenity's heart wasn't in the session; he listened with an air of mental absence, did not ask questions, and, when asked for his opinion, mumbled something even Beshelar was hard-pressed to hear. Chancellor Berenar frowned at him and then took charge of the room, seizing the flow of discussion and bringing it to himself, looking a bit disappointed. Normally he watched His Serenity's growing prowess in handling the Corazhas with the proprietary pride of a teacher over a brilliant pupil.

(Cala, who had a direct view of Count Deshehar's seat from his position, once had sworn to him that he had glimpsed a caricature of Berenar as a preening, puffed up owl presenting its fledging to the audience of smaller birds. Beshelar had harrumphed his disapproval, but secretly wished he could have seen it too.)

From his own place behind the Emperor's shoulder, Beshelar could see the beads of sweat gathering in His Serenity's hairline, hiding between taishin sticks. He was gripping the armrests too tightly, controlling his face and his ears too rigidly. Clearly, he was unwell. 

And so, the dilemma: should Beshelar have said something? Nonecharis to the Emperor, it would be gross presumption; besides, Csevet already had been presumptuous, and had been rebuffed. But if one was offered something more than his bare duty, something nebulous and precious, the way Beshelar had been offered the Emperor's friendship after the coup, then - should he have tried, too? Insisted?

Beshelar was dearly tempted to punt the question to Cala, who seemed to navigate the divide between them and His Serenity with ease, but it would've been unfair. He couldn't spend his entire lifetime blindly following Cala's lead when it came to anything more complicated than loyalty. And so... And so, he said to himself, _if he wast thy friend, thou wouldst ask_ , and resolved to do so once the session was over. 

The time for it came earlier than expected: those in Corazhas who loved the Emperor clearly strove to release him earlier, and those who didn't were herded by the Chancellor. Edrehashivar climbed to his feet, and Beshelar fell a step behind him, mentally marshaling an argument for canceling the next meeting and resting until the luncheon. From there on he hoped to cede the responsibility to Csethiro Zhasan. 

They were not five steps from the door when Edrehashivar stumbled, paused - brought his hand to his head - and then dropped, boneless and ungainly all at once. Beshelar's body lunged forward before he could make sense of what he was seeing, arresting the Emperor’s fall; he found himself on the floor with the Emperor sprawled across his lap, his left arm supporting Edrehashivar's head, and his right groping for the sword. Above his head, Cala was bellowing orders. The Imperial Guards abandoned their posts around the wall and formed a circle around them, swords out, hiding the pale and startled faces of the Witnesses. 

Beshelar discarded his sword and put his fingers to the Emperor's throat. One part of him was coldly tense, ready to spring into action; the other screamed in frustrated terror. The third assassination attempt in two years, on his watch again?

The skin under his fingers was hot and clammy, but the blood underneath beat an even rhythm. Beshelar swore in a quiet and angry burst of relief. "Cala, he's burning up."

Cala kneeled next to them, hands already moving in a complicated _maz_ , eyes unfocused. "No poison, no magic. Is he sick? Csaivo, so many of us watching and all of us blind and stupid."

Beshelar gathered His Serenity to himself and climbed to his feet, thinking that His Serenity still felt more fragile than he should have; what substance the good food, comfortable sleeping and horse riding built, the overwork, worry and nightmares ate away. The captain of the Guards bowed to him, and Beshelar told him to clear the corridors between Verven'theileian and Alcethmeret of servants and courtiers, and to send for Csethiro Zhasan and for the doctor. He left it to Cala handle the Chancellor and the Corazhas with barely a flicker of conscience. 

In his arms, Edrehashivar shifted and murmured something plaintive and confused, and hid his face from the bright morning light in Beshelar's shoulder. 

"Thou art well," Beshelar whispered, greatly daring, and carried the Emperor back to his rooms. 

* * *

Nothing prepared Csethiro for the degree of sick terror she felt when the breathless guard told her that "His Serenity fell, lost consciousness and won't wake up." She collected her lady-in-waiting and walked to the Alcethmeret with carefully carefree steps, because she could not afford to sow rumors, and all the while her heart stuttered and beat like a panicked horse: was Maia poisoned? Injured? Terminally ill? Would he leave her to guard her unborn child's throne - and likely her life - against the inevitable claimants? Would he leave her?

Mer Aisava, lips pressed in a thin line and ears nervously flicking, met her in the Tortoise Room. He bowed and told her that the doctor was with His Serenity, and that he'd hold the fort against any nobles who’d be drawn in when the inevitable rumors start circulating the court. She left her lady-in-waiting with him and, in the relative privacy of Alcethmeret, finally dashed up the stairs into her husband's bedroom, as fast as her belly would let her. 

Lieutenant Beshelar actually moved to check her entry into the room before he recognized her, bowed apologetically, and let her in; he looked a little wild around the eyes. Over his shoulder she saw the imperial doctor leaning over Maia's bed, Maia's slack face sickly grey against his pillows, his helplessly splayed fingers. Her stomach twisted - she petted it without thought, like soothing a startled hound, and tried to will her legs to be steady. 

Merrem Esaran materialized by her elbow, and, dazed, she allowed herself to be guided into the nearest chair. The doctor was listening to Maia's lungs; she could hear his labored, strained breathing from across the room. Csaivo be merciful, so many people had warned her about the dangers of this marriage, most of them for reasons either stupid, false, or malicious, and nobody told her that being married would involve so much fear. She wished she knew how to pray; her heart refused to calm down, and her child began kicking her in earnest as if it felt her alarm without knowing the reason for it. 

Finally, finally, Mer Iereth turned away from Maia's bed. He startled, seeing her, and she hurriedly waved him out of his bow. "No ceremony, please. Is he poisoned? Is he dying?"

Mer Iereth stared at her, aghast. "Did no one tell you, Csethiro Zhasan? Cala Athmaza checked for poisons and malicious magic when His Serenity lost consciousness, they were never in question."

Across the room, Lieutenant Beshelar flushed up to his ears, and quietly but audibly growled something about killing a messenger. Csethiro felt a surge of rage go through her - how dare they scare her so! - and let it go. "What is it?"

"It's just indewar fever, Csethiro Zhasan. Please rest assured, it's not life-threatening to most adult elves or goblins, if the person afflicted rests properly and has plenty to drink. We suspect that the only reason His Serenity was affected so badly was that he was already exhausted when he contracted the illness."

Csethiro envied Lieutenant Beshelar his freedom to growl. Of course, her husband was exhausted; he still insisted on carrying the weight of the empire on his shoulders, despite all of them practically begging to lighten his load. She had come to love him, come to love so dearly, and yet sometimes she longed to shake him until he saw - until he saw...

She made herself focus and listen to the rest of Mer Iereth's instructions - beginning and ending with the admonition of making the Emperor stay abed for at least a week, regardless of his symptoms - and met her husband's nonecharei's eyes, seeing the same resigned anger and worry in them. "We'll make sure of it," she promised, including the others in her royal We. "This time, he will rest."

Then she asked Merrem Esaran to deliver the news to Mer Aisava so he could start doling out information to the rest of the court. Lieutenant Beshelar and Cala Athmaza took up their positions by the walls, and Maia's edocharei arranged a chair for her by his bed and brought her a pitcher of water, a glass, a bowl, and a stack of linen for compresses, so she could wash Maia's face and try to give him relief. He was deeply unconscious, and her touch did not bring him back as she half-feared, half-hoped. She moved the wet cloth with tiny circular movements, awkwardly bowed over her belly, and wished deeply that he would open his eyes and give her his small, private, careful smile. 

Mer Iereth had warned her that the fever was likely to bring her husband nightmares, and she was ready to reassure and soothe, for she knew by now what haunted her husband's sleep.

(Csethiro always deeply regretted not having had an option to duel and skewer the loathsome worm Setheris Nelar before he got a cushy position in the country he did not deserve). 

She was prepared for Maia to cry out, or even to relieve the horrible night that had left a scar on his arm. But when he came halfway to his senses, instead he made himself very small and very still, huddling stiffly under the blankets as if he was a prey animal hoping to avoid a hunting bird. He shied away from her touch with quiet little twitches; his entire body became tense, gathered for flight and trapped in immobility. She had watched him grow into himself over the year, learn to fill the spaces he inhabited, saw the way people would be drawn to him when he spoke; to see all of this growth stripped away in an instant made her cry. 

For hours, Maia switched between unhappy half-consciousness and restless sleep. Absorbed in his misery, Csethiro missed the change of nohecharei. Only when Kiru Athmaza joined her by Maia's bed did Csethiro jolt back to discover that her back was aching abominably, and the overcast day outside had already crept into darker hours.

"Csethiro Zhasan," the nonecharo said in her comfortably blunt way, bowing to Csethiro. "His Serenity is going to be well, but if you exhaust and harm yourself or the babe looking after him, he'll never stop blaming himself." 

She thought of leaving the Alcethmeret and tossing and turning through the night, half-dreaming of Maia trapped miserably in his lonely bed, and blanched with unhappiness. "I don't..."

"Merrem Esaran has made up a bed for you, Csethiro Zhasan," Kiru said, pointing, "and your lady-in-waiting sent for your nightclothes."

There was, indeed, a temporary bed behind the low screen in the corner of Maia's bedroom; Csethiro wondered how she missed it. Her head felt woozy; she realized she hadn't eaten since early afternoon, and had to stifle a jolt of unhappy laughter at the idea of getting infected with Maia's lack of self-care. 

Still she didn't want to leave his side - "I'll sit with him, Csethiro Zhasan," Kiru said, and in the face of her serene, patient promise Csethiro gave in and called for her maids. They surrounded her in a quiet whirlwind of a bath, repast, change into sleeping clothes; the senior maid scolded her quietly for her inattention to her health - and before she could blink she was in bed, staring at Kiru Athmaza's white braid as the older woman, humming quietly, sat by Maia's side. 

Between two notes of that wordless lullaby Csethiro fell asleep. 

* * *

Maia delayed waking up as much as he could. Lethargy in his limbs and sharp soreness in his throat spoke of familiar fever; he shivered, and hoped against hope that Cousin Setheris was not in residence. But with the dull knowledge of his bad luck he knew it was more likely that he had alerted Setheris to his misery somehow, and soon his cousin would barge in to throw him out of bed and accuse him of malingering, and invent some punishment for him that could not and would have to be borne. 

_I just_ , he thought, angry with himself for still having the stupidity to hope, _need to sleep some more. Just a bit, please._

He willed his limbs to move, ignoring the lingering ache, keeping his eyes resolutely closed - and finally focused on the sensations his body was conveying to him.

He was warm. The linens under his fingers were soft, dry - not drenched in cold sweat - the mattress firm, the duvet heavy and comforting. His bedclothes felt like a tender embrace. The air itself was warm. He soaked up the improbable comfort of it for a heartbeat before choking in wild horror - something had gone wrong, Aäno or Kevo had had a fit of insanity and risked Setheris' ire by wasting firewood and good cotton on him, and while Maia could only be berated or beaten, they could be sacked, forced out - 

His eyes snapped open, and the room around him had nothing to do with Edonomee: the folds of the canopy were instantly familiar to him, reminiscent of many sleepless nights and early mornings. The sunlight was filtering in through the high windows; Telimezh, catching his eye from across the room, saluted. He rolled his head to the side with an effort, and saw Kiru by his bedside. 

"Good morning, Serenity," she said, smiling at him. There was a commotion in the corner of the room: he was still gathering the energy to look when Csethiro burst into his field of vision, half-kneeling on his bed. 

"Maia! Oh, thank Csaivo, finally. How dost thou fare? Dost know where thou art? I'm so angry with thee, I - "

She took hold of his hands, her sword-calloused palms warm and familiar and dear, and he felt tears come to his eyes and didn't care to stop them. 

"I'm home," he told her, and his breath caught in his throat. "I know I'm home."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to M. for the best possible beta.


End file.
